


Matters of State

by bluehawthorn



Category: The Hobbit (Jackson Movies), The Hobbit - All Media Types, The Hobbit - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Anal Sex, Dale - Freeform, Dwarf/Elf Relationship(s), Dwarf/Human Relationship(s), Everybody Lives, Kingsmut, M/M, Multi, Oral Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Post Battle of the Five Armies, Self-Lubrication, Shameless Smut, Slash, Slight use of alcohol, Thorin POV, Three Kings, Threesome - M/M/M, sexual headcanon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-13
Updated: 2015-09-13
Packaged: 2018-04-20 15:38:23
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,610
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4793015
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluehawthorn/pseuds/bluehawthorn
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After the Battle of the Five Armies, Thorin reluctantly goes to Thranduil's tent to apologize and thank him for his role in their victory. He is surprised to find that Bard is also there...and even more surprised at what happens next.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Matters of State

**Author's Note:**

> Content note: use of alcohol to make one of the characters relax slightly and lubricate the way, so to speak, to the sex scene. Written with the headcanon that elves would have elixirs that calm the body without clouding the mind and that dwarves can handle a few drinks quite easily - in other words, it is not meant to be enough to create dubious consent or creepy behaviour. I hope that comes across ok.

Thorin pauses and takes a deep breath. If he is being honest with himself, it is more like a sigh of resignation. 

He stands outside the tent, lit from within and glowing golden under the dark star-scattered night sky that vaults overtop of Dale and the Lonely Mountain. He readies himself to enter and face his enemy turned ally, the King of Mirkwood.

His dislike for and distrust of Thranduil is over a century old. And yet, after his goldsickness and the battle against the armies of Azog and Bolg, he is now in the elvenking's debt. No matter how it rankles him, he knows (and his advisors have insisted) that he must begin repaying that debt with a show of gratitude and apology. Begrudging as it may be.

And so here he is. He has come at night and at the changing of Thranduil's guards, hoping to slip by unnoticed. He does not want word of this getting far - he cannot stomach giving Thranduil the satisfaction.

Dwalin and Nori are stationed nearby for safety but otherwise Thorin has chosen stealth and solitude for this first matter of state he must attend to as King Under the Mountain. So far he has been successful but as another moment of hesitation will likely get him discovered, he draws in one more deep breath and ducks into the tent.

He straightens up and looks around at the elegantly turned out interior, unsurprised that the elvenking would manage to remain in luxury even on a battlefield. Thranduil himself is not immediately in view but he must have heard Thorin enter because he calls out, "Who is there? I thought I commanded that I was not to be disturbed."

Thorin clears his throat and answers, after taking a moment to indulge in imagining himself turning around and leaving quickly before Thranduil sees him. But he persists, knowing that the sooner he gets this over with the better. Which is also why he has chosen to meet with Thranduil first, saving a slightly less humiliating audience with Bard of Laketown (or is it Bard of Dale or King Bard now?) for second.

"It is Thorin. I seek but a few moments of your time."

Thranduil sweeps into view, emerging from behind a hanging tapestry that gives privacy to part of the tent. He is smoothing out his robes and smirking as he walks towards Thorin, seemingly unperturbed by the late night intrusion.

He stops at a table near the center of the tent and begins pouring himself some wine, drawling, "King Under the Mountain. What a pleasant surprise." His smirk deepens. "Bard, come see our guest."

Bard follows from behind the curtain, looking somewhat dishevelled, his cheeks flushed. He keeps his eyes averted, but gives a small nod of respect, saying gruffly, "Thorin." Thranduil hands him a glass of wine and he moves quickly to a chair at the side of the tent and sits down, his movements slightly less graceful than usual.

Thorin is unsure what to make of this and has to carefully hide the surprise from his face at finding them both here. Thoughts skip through his head like stones across the surface of a lake. Perhaps this is good. He can say what he needs to say to both of them at once, although he had hoped to have no onlookers when he apologized to Thranduil.

Then he looks from Thranduil to Bard and back again, realization dawning on him. The rumpled clothing, the swollen lips, the charged atmosphere. Suddenly he feels a lot more awkward than he did before, a thing he did not previously think possible.

"I am sorry, I did not...I can come back another time."

"Nonsense," says Thranduil, that maddening smirk growing even more self-satisfied. "Now is a perfect time. We are all kings here. Surely what you want to say can be said in front of Bard as well. He is your ally, is he not?"

He glides over to the throne-like chair across from Bard and sits as well. He lounges back, crossing his legs and raising his eyebrows as though awaiting an answer.

Thorin clears his throat. "Yes, of course."

He searches for the words he had taken great care to prepare before coming, but that now seem to have abandoned him, keeping his gaze on the floor. Eventually he finds the ability to say, "I have come to offer my thanks for your help in defeating our enemies. And to apologize for my behaviour while I was sick from the gold. I...I hope that you can forgive me and that there can be peace between our kingdoms."

Bard speaks up immediately, beginning to say graciously, "Of course," but Thranduil talks over him. "I see. We shall have to consider this apology."

Thorin feels a surge of anger go through him at the elvenking's arrogance, but nods and says,"Understandably. I will leave you to it."

He turns to go, hoping to maintain some semblance of dignity, when Thranduil speaks again. "Why must you leave us so quickly Thorin? Perhaps if you were to stay you could convince us to accept your request."

Thranduil's voice brooks no argument. He is commanding Thorin to stay. "At least have a drink with us to celebrate our recent victory."

Thorin prickles with annoyance but forces himself to nod. He strides to the door of the tent and with a gesture dismisses Dwalin and Nori, letting them know that he is safe and no longer in need of them. 

When he turns back he sees that Thranduil is at the table again. "I know that dwarves prefer ale over wine. I do not have any, but this elven brew may be to your liking."

He pours an amber-coloured liquid from a decanter into a glass and passes it to Thorin. Thorin ducks his head in thanks and takes a long swig from the glass.

The brew is sweet with undertones that are both smoky and bitter. It tastes like summer fields and sunlight on grass. Immediately a sensation of warmth spreads through him.

Taking a second drink, he begins to relax just the slightest bit, feeling calmer and yet also more energized at the same time. He wonders that the cordial would affect him so quickly and yet his head still feels entirely clear.

"Do you like it?" Thranduil asks.

Thorin realizes that both he and Bard are watching him. He feels a resurgence of awkwardness and shifts in place. There is no place for him to sit down and Thranduil, reclining back in his chair again himself, does not offer one.

"Yes. It's lovely."

"Mmmm, I thought you might. It's a specialty of my people...gives a relaxed strength and vigour to the body without clouding the mind's judgement."

Thorin nods and takes another long draw. It radiates through him, and he welcomes the feeling. Even though none of them are speaking, Thorin feels more comfortable, or at least less uncomfortable, than he has since entering the tent.

Eventually Bard leans forward and offers his wineglass for Thorin to clink his against. He then does the same to Thranduil, rising partly out of his chair in order to reach and saying, "To the vanquishing of our shared enemies and to the fallen who fought so bravely."

It is easy to drink to this. They and the people they lead have all been through a lot in the past fortnight. If nothing else, they have that in common. They spend a few minutes in reflective silence that begins to feel surprisingly companionable.

Thorin finds himself wondering what it might be like to have the company of other rulers more often. He has rarely known the pleasure of having peers, having distrusted every leader he has known since becoming one himself. Other than his cousin Dain. And perhaps even Dain somewhat.

He cannot deny that there is a certain comfort in being with others who understand what it is to carry the weight of responsibility for a people. He does not have to lead here, can feel that they share similar burdens, can relax his guard a little.

No, that's not right. He should be more on his guard, should he not? Is the alcohol affecting his mind after all or has he just learned to trust these two more than before? 

Sure, he trusts Bard to an extent. He knows that the bargeman did everything he could to avoid conflict when laying claim to what he had been promised, what he needed to salvage his people's lives. He also knows that Bard had good reasons when he tried to thwart the quest and that he owes him a great deal for killing Smaug.

But he cannot imagine more than the most tentative ceasefire of hostility between himself and the elvenking. He looks over at Thranduil who looks back at him impassively. Can he?

He drinks again, draining the glass and Thranduil stands to refill it. He puts the decanter and his own glass on the table and then rather than sitting back down, moves closer to Thorin. 

Towering over him, Thranduil walks back and forth a few times in a slow half circle, looking down in an appraising sort of way. Thorin stiffens and wills himself still. He waits to see what Thranduil intends, wary but also somewhat intrigued.

Thranduil is nothing if not a powerful presence. He fills the room with his energy, and right now it is swirling around Thorin, heady and intoxicating. The tension in the air grows thicker again but under the influence of the cordial Thorin remains quite relaxed even though he is watchful.

Thranduil stops in front of Thorin and looks over at Bard. Thorin watches as something passes between them. After a moment, Bard inclines his head. When he does Thranduil turns quickly back to Thorin and then hesitates a moment.

Then, without warning, Thranduil reaches out and runs the ends of his long fingers through Thorin's hair. Thorin sucks in a sharp breath and has to stop himself from jerking away in shock.

The touch is gentle, tentative even. It is completely uncharacteristic of Thranduil and it makes the elvenking look something akin to vulnerable. It causes an unnameable feeling to churn in the pit of Thorin's stomach.

Thranduil's head is tilted, considering Thorin, as though waiting for his reaction. When Thranduil next breaks the tightly drawn silence, his voice is lower than before. "Perhaps you might be persuaded to join us. As a way to move beyond our past conflicts and foster the bond between us as allies."

Thorin does not understand immediately. He looks back and forth between Bard and Thranduil. "By join you, you mean..."

Bard’s lips curl although his face retains its characteristic stoicism. "Tonight. Join us for the night."

Understanding floods through him. He nods slowly, giving himself time to think because he does not know what to say. Thranduil has taken a step back and his face is guarded again as he waits for Thorin's answer.

Thorin thinks he should be appalled, leaving in a fit of anger and disgust. But for some reason he feels rooted to the spot.

He considers. Bard is a human, yes, but he has a ruggedness that is appealing. A rangy sort of handsomeness.

And Thranduil, infuriating though he is, has started glowing with some strange inner light the elves sometimes call forth or are perhaps afflicted by in times of strong emotion...he is unsure which. What he does know is that the elvenking, although a subject of his hatred for so long, is undeniably beautiful in his own way. That beauty is certainly in evidence now.

More importantly, now that this offer has been extended he does not feel offended. He feels curious. 

And tired. In fact, after everything that has happened he is too tired, it would seem, to resist his baser urges when a direct invitation has been made.

It has been a long time. A very, very long time. The destruction of Erebor, the loss of his father and grandfather, building a new home in the Blue Mountains, the quest - with all the struggle and need to keep on, he has had no time for entanglements.

Also, he has not wanted to indulge with someone over whom he holds princeship. He does not want to abuse his power or foster expectations he cannot fulfill. He has never had and most likely will never have a mate. His duties do not allow him to be a husband or even a lover.

But maybe this...with two other kings... 

Is there any reason not to? There must be. But he cannot think of them now.

He is not sure he wants to think of them now. Truthfully, in the relative calm since the battle his body has thrummed with the need for release.

Thranduil must see his decision on his face because he closes the space between them and leans down to catch Thorin in a kiss. It is a wickedly arousing thing, the elvenking's lips parting his, tasting of wine and honey.

And then Thranduil's tongue is reaching in to swirl around his, probing and insistent, and Thorin's blood begins to pound in his ears. Desire robs him of any resolve he had left. When Thranduil stops, Thorin is nearly breathless and his head is swimming.

Thranduil steps away for a moment, Thorin hardly able to register what he is doing until the elf hands him another glass of the elixir. He drinks it back in one long draught. 

"You swear to tell no one of this?" he asks when he's done.

"Of course. I expect the same from you," Thranduil replies. “Well, then. This shall be interesting.” He smiles again and adds, "Bard, take him to the other room. I will join you shortly."

Bard rises, graceful again, from where he was watching them in his serious, thoughtful way. He puts a hand gently at Thorin's back and nudges him towards the curtain. Thorin follows in a daze, wondering at what a strange night this has become and why he cannot seem to rally the will to leave.

Behind the curtain is a bed in an ornately carved wooden frame. Bard gestures for him to sit on the edge and when he does, eases his jacket off his shoulders. He puts it aside on a chair in the corner and does the same with his own, arranging them both carefully.

Then Bard slowly kneels in front of him. Thorin watches as Bard bends to remove his boots, one and then the other. It is a strangely intimate gesture. 

This is all done in silence until Bard say quietly, "I am glad you chose to stay." Bard's voice is smooth and soft and he runs his hands over Thorin's knees and up his thighs as he speaks. This small contact and already Thorin can feel himself hardening, feel his breath coming short.

Bard moves closer, now kneeling between his legs. He looks into Thorin's eyes for a moment and they share a look that heats his blood even further. Bard leans forward and captures Thorin's mouth in a kiss. This kiss is slower than Thranduil’s but a small measure wilder too.

Bard tastes like a winter storm, like something sharp and vivid and thrilling. Despite being a human there is a density and power to the bowman. Thorin can feel a fierce kind of intelligence and a hidden passion in him, both palpable through the kiss.

When Bard pulls away they are both breathing heavy. Bard fixes him with that intense gaze again, and then reaches down and surprises Thorin by quickly unlacing his trousers. Thorin leans back on his hands and watches to see what Bard will do next. He is caught off his guard yet again when without any further preamble Bard frees his cock and plunges it into his mouth. 

The pleasure of it is so sudden and all-consuming that his body clenches around it and he finds himself gripping handfuls of the brocaded fabric that covers the bed. Bard takes him expertly back into his throat and sucks hard and wet along the length of him before swallowing again. 

His tongue drags up Thorin's shaft, curls around the head of his cock. His cheeks hollow as the slick pressure of his mouth pulls pleasure out of Thorin that is so searing it puts everything into sharp relief. He can feel the ridges of Bard's palate as his cock skids across them, the texture of his tastebuds as he rides along Bard's tongue.

It is almost too much. Bard's mouth is hot and excruciating and it nearly makes him lose control. It takes everything not to replace his handfuls of fabric with handfuls of Bard's hair - not to shove himself into that chiselled face and take it roughly, fill it with the gushing force of his climax. He holds himself back, shuddering with the effort. 

He is so focused on Bard's mouth and the struggle to contain his urges that he does not notice that Thranduil is watching them. The elvenking, standing at the curtain, makes a small noise of approval after Bard takes him so close to the edge that Thorin cries out before he can stop himself. His head jerks up and he sees Thranduil staring back at him.

Thorin freezes on the spot and the two of them hold eye contact for a few long moments. Thorin feels a resurgence of hostility, but it does not bear the same weight it usually does. There are other things he is feeling in this moment that are taking precedence. 

Thranduil, for his part, seems simply amused. "Do not stop on my account," he says, smirking again. Thorin takes a moment to wonder once more at how he is allowing himself to stay and be part of this, but then mentally shrugs and returns his attention to Bard, leaving Thranduil to watch.

Bard looks up, his lips red from being stretched around Thorin's cock only moments ago. The thought sends a jolt of arousal through him and he selfishly hopes that Bard will continue to pleasure him with his mouth. 

But the bowman obviously has other ideas. He tucks Thorin's cock back in his trousers and pushes Thorin back further onto the bed. Bard follows behind, crawling up over top of him, knocking his boots off as he goes so that they fall to the floor.

They make it as far as the pillows and then Bard is kissing him again, pressing his body down on him, his hands and mouth searching and hungry. Thorin growls deep in his throat. He reaches up to wrap his arms around Bard, pulls him down so that their bodies are flush against each other. He rolls his hips up so that Bard is crushed against his hardness and so that he can feel Bard's bulging against his thigh. 

The bed tips slightly under a new weight, and Thorin has just enough time to realize that Thranduil has joined them before Bard is slipping off him and he is hemmed in by both of them, one on either side. 

Bard pulls back, deferring to Thranduil, who leans over him. The elvenking's hair falls against the side of Thorin's face and shoulder. He hovers just above Thorin, their lips nearly grazing, their breath mingling. 

Thranduil lingers like this until Thorin can stand it no longer and strains up so that their mouths collide. Thranduil melts into the contact and then the elvenking's tongue is in his mouth again and he is nipping at Thorin's lower lip.

While Thranduil continues to kiss him, Bard unbuttons his duster and unlaces his tunic. He spreads them open and his mouth begins working at Thorin's neck and chest. The sensation of their two mouths on him and their two bodies pressed against him makes Thorin moan, and the sounds seems wanton even to himself.

A moment later Thranduil joins Bard and together they strip him to only his trousers. They run their hands and tongues over his exposed flesh until Thorin's chest is heaving with breath that he can't quite catch. He feels as though desire is liquefying his insides. He is forgetting everything and it is a relief so profound it nearly makes him weep. 

At one point they are both bent over his chest, each suckling at a nipple, teasing and flicking at them deliciously. And then they move further down, tasting his ribs, his navel. 

After some time of this, which could have been minutes or hours for all Thorin knows, they rise and kneel over top of him. They lean forward and meet in the middle above him, kissing each other deeply. 

Their tongues search each other's mouths in a way that suggests this is something they've done long enough to become practiced at it but not so long as to lose any of the passion or excitement it carries. He watches them as they strip each other out of their clothes. They are undeniably lovely together. 

When they return back to lying along either side of him they are both also naked to the waist. They kiss each other once more over top of him, but this time it is only inches from his face and he watches as they explore each other and then turn to him. They begin kissing him, passing him back and forth between them, Bard and then Thranduil and then Bard again. 

Both of their hands are on his cock now, kneading and squeezing as they kiss him over and over. They are stoking the heat in him so high he can barely contain it. He has a hand in each of their hair, dark and light, and he is arching up into each kiss and pulling each of them down towards him.

At one point Thranduil pulls away for a moment and chuckles from deep in his chest. "I wouldn't have thought you would be so....amenable, Thorin. I am glad I risked asking you to join us. I expected you to be insulted. I am pleased to see that it is quite the opposite." 

Thorin wants to tell him to shut up but instead grabs the elvenking by his hair and pulls him roughly into another kiss. He chuckles again but allows himself to be occupied once more. 

Slowly Bard begins to move down his body again and Thranduil follows him a moment later. As they reach his waistband, they cooperate to pull his trousers off.

Thorin leans back and closes his eyes, letting out a long sigh filled with all the mixed emotions of this night and those that came before it. Mostly, though he is luxuriating. He feels like he should be playing a more active role here, but he is out of practice and they aren't really letting him, both pressing him back to the bed whenever he strains too far off it.

Now they are caressing his thighs, licking his hipbones. He is writhing, unrestrained, flexing up toward their mouths. And then both of their tongues are running up the sides of his cock and he gasps, his vision blanking with sensation. 

They run their open mouths up and down the shaft then meet at the head, kissing each other with his cock rigid and throbbing between them. It makes him glad that he is wide in his girth, that there is enough of him for them to share between them. 

He watches them, both consumed in what they are doing, eyes only for his cock and each other, their mouths skillful and wet and burning hot. They then take turns taking him back into their mouths, one after another, from root to tip. 

At one point Thranduil hums low and rumbling in his throat and the vibration carries right through him, bringing climax near once more. "Oh Mahal," he mutters, trying to keep his eyes from rolling back in his head. He does not want to miss anything, to take his eyes off the two of them as they ravish him together.

At this Thranduil's eyes flicker toward him, his lips sliding off Thorin's cock. "Feeling better King Under the Mountain?"

Thorin nods, his lips parted and breath coming fast and ragged.

"Well, you have another treat coming. Bard, shall we prepare you?" Bard sucks along the length of him one more time and then pulls away, making a sound of agreement.

Thranduil moves up so that he is lying alongside Thorin again. Bard sits up and remains where he is, leaning on one arm, his muscles bunched and hair tousled. Thranduil reaches over to a small bedside table that Thorin hasn't noticed until now. He picks up a small vial and says, "Give me your hands." 

Thorin holds them out and Thranduil pours oil into them and then onto his own. "Stroke him while I open him." 

Bard lies down between them, on his side facing Thorin. Thorin is curious. He has not slept with a human man before - nor an elf of any gender for that matter - and he is not sure what Thranduil means. He waits expectantly, leaning over and nuzzling into Bard's neck and nibbling at his ear while he does so.

Thranduil eases off Bard's pants revealing a very impressive erection. Thorin is glad to no longer be the only one naked and thoroughly enjoys the sounds Bard begins making when he takes his engorged cock into his oiled hands. He grips it tight and runs his palm down the length of it, twisting and pumping.

Thranduil runs his hand along Bard's side and then down over his backside in a long caress. Bard takes a shuddering breath and then grimaces and his breathing deepens. It takes a moment for Thorin to recognize what is happening but then he realizes that Thranduil is penetrating Bard with his fingers. 

This must have been what Thranduil meant by opening him. Bard is moaning. He sounds like he is enjoying their ministrations, although his face looks strained.

Soon Bard's head collapses forward so that it is resting in the crook of Thorin's shoulder. He is breathing in ragged sobs that sound somewhere between pleasure and pain. Thorin looks over at Thranduil, who continues fucking Bard with his fingers. "Is he alright?"

"Absolutely. Bard is accustomed to some small discomfort in the service of a larger pleasure, aren't you Bard?" Bard nods against Thorin's shoulder, crying out as Thranduil thrusts his fingers forward.

"You see, human men do not have the gift of muscle control that elves do, nor the ability to self-lubricate that dwarf men have developed in response to such a shortage of females amongst your kind. They must be stretched before they are taken." 

As though adding emphasis to that last part, Thranduil pushes into Bard again, hard enough to elicit a gasp. But Thorin notices that Bard is now pushing back, rocking against Thranduil's hand as well as into Thorin's touch, swaying between them.

Thranduil leans forward and licks the shell of Bard's ear, taking it between his teeth. It makes Bard shiver and arch his neck back. Quietly and seductively, Thranduil says, "Are you ready?" Bard nods, his face fevered and eyes glazed. "Do you want it to be him?" Bard nods again.

Thranduil pulls free and Thorin moves his hands off of Bard, waiting to see what will happen. Bard turns over on his stomach. Thranduil gestures toward him, saying, "He is ready. And he wishes for you to fuck him."

"Is this true, Bard?" Thorin asks and his own voice is almost unrecognizable, having become so shot through with desire. Bard looks back at him and says, "Yes. Please Thorin." 

Thorin feels his mouth watering and his cock hardening even further in anticipation. He turns to Thranduil. "What about you?"

Thranduil smiles. "Well, to be honest dwarf king, I thought I would fuck you. Would that please you?"

Thorin has to fight his pride, because the truth is, it does please him. All of it. The hatred he has so long felt for Thranduil has spilled over into a lust that is like liquid fire through his veins. He could not walk away when this first began and he certainly is not stopping it now. 

He lowers his chin in a nod, yes. 

There. It is done. He may regret this, may need to carry it as a shameful secret for the rest of his years, but that is a consideration for later. 

For now, Bard’s body is displayed before him, leanly muscled and flawless. Thranduil reaches over to pour oil over Thorin's cock and spreads it with a few long movements of his elegant hand. Thorin notices briefly that Thranduil must have taken off his rings at some point. Then he has to close his eyes as the sensation pulls at something deep in his pelvis, some warm coiling thing awakening beneath the touch.

Thranduil moves to give them space and Thorin lays his body down over Bard, his knees on either side of Bard's thighs. Bard tilts his pelvis up, and looks back over his shoulder with a face that smoulders with want. Thorin is sure the same desire must burn on his own face. 

Thorin takes himself in hand and presses the tip of his cock against Bard’s entrance, which twitches as he presses forward. Bard lets out a long groan as Thorin enters his body. It is unthinkably tight. In the moment before the clenching heat around the head of his cock obliterates all thought, he thinks that now he understands why Thranduil had to prepare Bard so thoroughly.

He pushes into Bard slowly and Bard's body gives way, opening gradually around him. Eventually he is all the way in, his belly pressed against the rise of Bard's ass. Bard is trembling, and Thorin leans down to kiss his back reassuringly. "Does it hurt?" he asks.

"No. It is simply...intense," replies Bard, his voice broken and low. "Fuck me Thorin."

Lust spikes through Thorin at this and he pulls back the slightest bit, the oil easing the way. He begins gently at first and then harder as Bard lifts his hips to receive him. Light blooms behind his eyelids and his body expands beyond its own borders, swelling with pleasure. 

Bard feels excruciatingly good - the press of him; the gripping, molten ride of it. Thorin is growling, picking up his pace. Eventually he is slamming Bard down toward the bed with each thrust. 

And Bard takes it. Despite the seeming fragility of his body and the way Thorin only barely fits inside him, he takes it. Thorin leans down to run the edge of his teeth along Bard’s shoulder blade and Bard groans again. He is leaning forward on his arms, his head bent toward the bed.

Thranduil, who has been lounging alongside watching them again, stands for a moment and Thorin turns in time to see him shed his leggings. They make eye contact as Thranduil is revealed in his nakedness, standing proud and kingly. 

He is stunning. It makes Thorin suck in an admiring breath and rake his gaze down over Thranduil's body before he climbs back onto the bed. Thranduil notices, the corner of his lip rising, his too-blue eyes glittering in the lamplight.

Thorin returns most of his attention to Bard, but he is also keenly aware of Thranduil climbing up behind him on the bed. He feels Thranduil settle in, straddling both his legs and Bard's.

The elvenking lays one hand splayed on his lower back and his other moves to test him. He knows that Thranduil will find him wet, his channel slick and ready. 

Sure enough, Thranduil slips one finger inside him and then another and sighs appreciatively. The stretch of his fingers, along with the pleasure of fucking Bard - which he continues to do in long leisurely strokes - makes Thorin moan in response. 

Not wasting any more time, Thranduil drags a hand down to his hip and uses the other to position himself. He falls across Thorin's back, pinning Thorin between his body and Bard's. And then Thranduil begins the long slide into Thorin's body. 

Thorin stops, breathing deeply as he is impaled to the very end of his body's endurance. Thranduil's cock is large enough to make him grit his teeth as it first spreads him open, but eventually he adjusts, his walls softening around the intrusion.

Bard whimpers at the pause, grinding himself back onto Thorin. Caught between the two of them - full of Thranduil and filling Bard, pressed between their bodies - Thorin is nearly overwhelmed again. He is a warrior, trained to withstand much, but this throbbing in his ears and gut, this pooling of heat in his legs and pelvis, this is almost more than he can bear.

He just barely gets it under control when Thranduil withdraws several inches of his cock, only to feed it back into him hard and thick. Thorin moans, his weight falling onto Bard as he adjusts to Thranduil being buried inside him while he is sheathed inside Bard. 

Thranduil tilts his hips to pull out of him again and then strokes back in more forcefully this time. And the next and the next. It is not long before Thranduil begins to thrust into him mercilessly, pushing him into the hot tight grip of Bard's ass. 

It goes on forever, brutal and bestial and blissful. Long enough that he feels feral, mindless, all blood and sinew and lust. He has forgotten his usual self-control entirely and rediscovered some long-hidden part of himself that is wild with need. 

Thranduil is shoving him forward and Bard is rocking back into him. The rhythm they create is a relentless, mind-numbing, beautiful thing. It is primal and punishing. Thorin could never have imagined that this night would end here, with him in between Bard and Thranduil, fucking and being fucked. 

Thranduil's teeth are on his neck, his arms braced on either side of him. Thorin is pinned in place, but rather than feeling trapped he feels freed. Bard is crying out, muffled, into a pillow. Thranduil is whispering, "Yes, that's it Thorin, fuck him hard," into his ear. 

Thranduil's cock is slippery with his juices, sliding in and out in smooth arcs. Thranduil shifts his angle slightly and hits the sensitive spot inside him, sending a bright sparking of sensation through him. He does it over and over until Thorin's every nerve is lit with it. 

At the same time, the inside of Bard's body begins pulsing around Thorin's cock. His voice is rising in its pitch. Thorin can see that he has reached under himself and is jerking at his own cock. 

His spine is arching and his body is ripe and open. Thorin continues fucking him, angling himself the way that Thranduil has inside him. It works, and Thorin can feel Bard shatter into orgasm, his body spasming. 

The fluttering of Bard's ass around his cock brings Thorin to the brink again, and Thranduil seems to sense it. He redoubles his efforts, pounding into Thorin. Only a few more thrusts and he spills into an ecstasy that rips through him like a wildfire on a mountainside. 

He tumbles, spinning and crashing through the pleasure. Thranduil keeps fucking him as he fills Bard with seed until it leaks out and slicks the base of his own cock, his balls, his thighs.

And still Thranduil rides him, hard, the elf roaring as his finish takes him. Thorin can feel himself being filled the way he has just filled Bard. Aftershocks of pleasure are milked from inside him as Thranduil takes his last strokes, pushing himself as deep as he can into Thorin. Thranduil’s head falls towards his back and Thorin can feel the warmth of the elvenking’s breath on his skin as he tries to catch it. 

And then it is done. He is still inside Bard as he softens and Thranduil stays collapsed on top of him for a moment longer before he withdraws himself and rolls over onto the bed beside them. Thorin does the same, disengaging from Bard and laying down beside him. Bard flips over onto his back between them.

They all lay back, strewn across the bed side by side. After a few minutes pass, Thorin props himself up on an elbow, looking over Bard at Thranduil. "Truly, why did you ask me to join you tonight? I thought our animosity was mutual. I would have never expected...this."

Thranduil is leaning back, one of his arms bent behind his head, his shimmering white-gold hair flowing over his shoulders. He shrugs, looking up at the ceiling of the tent, and says, "Why not? We were already started when you so rudely interrupted." 

As Thorin had suspected. He nods, not taking the bait in Thranduil's tone.

They return to silence for a few moments and then Thranduil adds, "And you are attractive in your own way. For one of your kind." 

Now this surprises Thorin. 

"Also I so rarely get to play with someone who is an equal. Or, at least something closer to an equal than most - the next best thing with the other elven leaders being such paragons of repressed moralism."

Thorin feels the old annoyance flare up but then Thranduil looks at him and his arrogance softens. "Also, my feud was never with you Thorin. It was with your grandfather." He pauses and then continues, almost reluctantly, "Perhaps I should have extended my assistance to your people all those years ago, despite that it would have done little good."

Thorin gapes at this. Is the elvenking apologizing? 

"I had truly hoped that when you appeared in Mirkwood we would be able to put our bad blood behind us and both get what we wanted." This too is a revelation and Thorin has a moment of feeling ashamed for his behaviour in the Woodland Realm.

Thranduil pauses again and then says carefully, almost as though it pains him, "If the last weeks have shown us nothing else it is that we must band together to protect our people from the coming darkness. We must stop making the same mistakes our fathers made. That we have made."

And then he turns away and his face is closed once more. "Or after this you can go back to hating me again. Truly, I care not."

Thorin snorts. He looks at Bard who has been watching this exchange with keen interest. "Is he always like this?"

Bard laughs - a true laugh that lights up his face. "Yes. Always hot and cold, our elvenking. I blame it on his very advanced age."

Thranduil's face remains impassive, but Thorin can't help but chuckle along with Bard, whose mirth is contagious. Still smiling, Bard says, "If either of you are curious, I am here purely out of duty. I must learn to be a king now, and unfortunately you two are the only role models that I currently have available."

And then his smile deepens, becoming both teasing and tantalizing. He turns over and lifts up onto his knees, crouched between them, a hand on each of their thighs slowly inching upwards. "I have heard tales of dwarf and elf stamina. Perhaps you could utilize it to give me another lesson sometime soon."

Thranduil makes eye contact with Thorin, his eyebrow arching and lips twitching. They exchange a knowing look and then in tandem reach up to pull Bard back down between them again.

**Author's Note:**

> I own nothing from the Hobbit and make no money from this.
> 
> Comments very welcomed and much appreciated.


End file.
